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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486602">Color In The Shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerilys/pseuds/eerilys'>eerilys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The X-Files, M/M, No beta we die like illiterates, Slow Burn, oh no there’s just one bed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:48:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/eerilys/pseuds/eerilys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The X-Files are an obscure department in the FBI, but it might just be what Eddie has been searching for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christopher Diaz &amp; Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Color In The Shadows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Director’s office is the coldest of grays. Not just in terms of actual decor- though, it is that, too- but it feels as if Eddie will choke to death on the swelling oppression of grey if he so much as blinks. Surely, it must be more than just a color. Perhaps the endless days of monotony, and Eddie’s own languid dread over this meeting, have sheared all strands of color from the beams of light as they lurk past the dusty windowpanes. </p>
<p>The Director rifles through a jumble of papers. Eddie can’t help feeling as if the search is perfunctory, a charade of importance rather than any actual attempt at organization. It’s the constant, subtle political power coups like this that have slowly leeched away at his passion for the position.</p>
<p>“Agent Diaz, you submitted a transfer request?” Director Radford asks idly, smoothing out the paper Eddie submitted months ago. </p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”  Eddie bites back his growing annoyance, shifting forward in his seat. “I have to consider Christopher’s needs, as well as the direction of my career.” The older that Christopher gets, the more difficult it is for Eddie to balance his home and work schedules. He can’t keep doing this to him. To himself.</p>
<p>“I’m approving your request.”  The Director curtly sidesteps Eddie’s explanations, bluntly commandeering the conversation as if it had taken an unsavory turn. </p>
<p>Eddie opens his mouth to respond, but Director Radford cuts him off before he can. The irritation laces tension through his knuckles and the stubborn knot in his shoulders. It’s a good thing that this meeting will be the last time Eddie is ever under his supervision.</p>
<p>“Before you get too excited, we only had one vacancy.  It’s... been a standing opening for a few years now.”</p>
<p>Eddie cocks his head, pursing his lips.  It’s hardly the warning that the Director thinks it is.  “I’ll take it, thanks.”</p>
<p>The director pushes a folder across the desk to him, absentmindedly wiping his hand off on his trousers as if he had touched something unsavory.</p>
<p>“Welcome to the X-Files department, Agent Diaz.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The protesting screech of the chair’s back almost muffles the distant, announcing ding of the elevator doors as Buck forces the chair into an unnatural angle. The fragile support threatens to spill him out onto the office’s tiled floor with each new abuse, but Buck is anything if optimistic. The quarterly report swoops into the wastebin with the resounding satisfaction of the day’s first perfect shot. Rowdy excitement burst through Buck, setting his face alight with a grin as he bounds from his seat- a delightful whoop of joy bubbling up from his chest. The chair collapses to the floor, carelessly capsized in his outburst, but Buck pays it no mind as he pumps a triumphant fist in the air.</p>
<p>“Didn’t realize my arrival was that exciting.”  Eddie pauses in the doorway, a box of belongings balanced against his hip. </p>
<p>Buck goes sunrise red as he pauses, fist still frozen in the fleeting moment like a lagging glitch that hasn’t quite gotten the memo that the rest of the world has since moved on.  There’s a saying, about red skies preluding disaster, but Buck is pretty he’s never heard something so incorrect in his life.  The red comes on the tailgates of catastrophe.  He’s never, ever going to be able to live this moment down.  Any hopes of making a cool impression on his new coworker (his <i>first</i> coworker) now lies on the floor among the crumpled remnants of all his other missed shots that were doomed to surround the wastebin. Buck is almost jealous of the cost analysis reports.  They actually managed to avoid landing in the trash- a feat that seems unconquerable by his respectability. </p>
<p>Licking his lips and plastering on a foreign smile that could easily translate into a grimace, he tries: “Diaz, right?  How’d you piss off the Director badly enough to wind up here?”</p>
<p>“I asked for it.” Eddie shrugs, trying to put Buck at ease even while his whole demeanor oozes bemusement.  There’s the beginning of a smile tugging across the swell of his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, no one down here but the FBI’s most unwanted.” Buck shoots back, gesturing for Eddie to come into his office even as he desperately searches for an excuse to send him away. He needs a few minutes to privately rebuild and recover. The back of his neck prickles with heat as he ducks his head.  Agent Diaz doesn’t look like the kind of person they’d force into a basement office, he looks like he was plucked from an FBI recruiting pamphlet so they can prop him in the public eye at any possible chance. </p>
<p>“Doesn’t seem like that to me, Agent Buckley.”  Eddie’s smile is warm and the most dangerous kind of contagious.  He either doesn’t care about Buck’s professional reputation or hasn’t heard the whispers yet. “Is there anywhere I can put this?” He asks, gesturing towards his box as he moves into the room with the impossible ease of familiarity.</p>
<p>Buck is going to have to open an investigation into reclassifying embarrassment as a lethal poison. Maybe Bobby is right and he’s lost all his manners working in the basement  “Of course, the desk by the projector has your name all over it.”  Or rather, it would, as soon as the director sent down updated nameplates for the door and desks.  “It’s Buck, by the way.”  </p>
<p>Eddie sets the box atop the desk, turning back towards Buck to offer him his hand. “Eddie.”  </p>
<p>If Buck is suddenly excited about the upcoming trip to Montana, that’s his business.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello, thanks for reading! This is my first fic so please be gentle. I’d love to hear your thoughts!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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